


diablo sauce

by jeonbenet



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Canon Compliant, Eating, Hand Jobs, M/M, Marijuana, Mildly Dubious Consent, Recreational Drug Use, Semi-Public Sex, Taco Bell, don’t smoke weed and drive, implied johnny/doyoung, johnny mindfucks with mark through this whole thing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-08
Updated: 2020-04-08
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:54:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23537962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jeonbenet/pseuds/jeonbenet
Summary: “What can I get you,” the bored voice crackles through the speaker.“Need a minute, please,” Johnny replies, leaning out the window while stroking his erection once through his shorts as he speaks.Mark feels his legs go numb and his skin flares up red hot. Johnny did not just do that. Of course he did.(Or: Johnny gives Mark the full Johnny Suh Hometown Experience.)
Relationships: Mark Lee/Suh Youngho | Johnny
Comments: 44
Kudos: 530





	diablo sauce

**Author's Note:**

> based on the [infamous](https://youtu.be/XDd5yGt_cRA) johnny’s communication center when they visit johnny’s hometown. johnny mindfucks with mark a lot in this fic so please don’t read if that’s not for you! also johnny very irresponsibly drives while high. please don’t do that. stay safe and make good choices.
> 
> thanks as always to clara and brenna.

Mark Lee thinks he’s pretty cool. He’s had moments in his life where he really felt it, when all his anxiety and poor self-esteem washed away and he felt deserving of the cool label. Like when he was chosen for a solo in his church choir. Or when he signed with SM. Or when he first performed to thousands of screaming fans and finally spotted a girl absolutely overwhelmed and sobbing, holding a sign with his name on it. He’s really had a dope life up until this point. Had those moments where he felt blessed and lucky and just super cool. But all of those fleeting feelings of coolness get nullified when he’s around Johnny. Friggin’ Johnny Suh.

Johnny is an enigma to Mark. Some sort of energy black hole, sucking out any sort of confidence within Mark, turning him into this self-conscious stuttery disaster whenever they’re together. Which of course is a lot and some days it’s harder to deal with. Mark reverts back to his high school self, desperate to try to prove his worth to his friends that were way cooler than him. He wants to make Johnny laugh like Johnny does for him. Wants to impress him so bad, despite Mark feeling invisible most days. It’s been particularly hard today, since they’re all visiting Johnny’s childhood home, signs of Johnny’s unflinching coolness that has spanned his entire life framed and on display on every surface around them.

Mark can’t help but be in awe of Johnny’s natural cool guy aura, looking at him leaning casually against a door jamb, smiling softly as he takes in the chaos of his real family mixed with his work family. Mark feels some kind of way. He can’t put it into words. It just feels fluttery. Floaty. Other f words. There’s nothing particularly notable about this situation to justify Mark feeling this way. But for some reason when Johnny’s like this, quiet and sure of himself, his confidence understated and just... there, Mark feels that f word. That indescribable feeling. It’s weird, but whatever the feeling is, Mark knows it’s in a completely platonic way. Maybe he’s just jealous. Of Johnny’s self-assurance. Jealous of his confidence. Jealous.

He ignores the flutter that tingles through to his fingertips as he shrugs his jacket over his shoulders, watching Johnny as he rubs a socked foot against his calf. Johnny smiles when he sees his mom kissing Taeyong on the cheek for the billionth time that night, squealing out something that contains the words “cute” and “my good boy.” Johnny catches Mark’s eye and Mark’s breath hitches in his throat as Johnny’s eyes crinkle into a smile. Mark returns the smile, and Johnny’s face immediately relaxes, turning back into his base level of unnerving calm he so frequently maintains. Can Johnny read his mind? Does he know what that tingly feeling means? Does he think it’s weird? Crap.

“Are you not coming?” Mark asks, quiet and trying for cool.

Johnny glances at him, arms crossed. Takes more time than necessary with each word.

“Nah. Staying here.”

“Ah. Yeah. Of course. Cool,” Mark says in rapid succession.

“Why?” Johnny replies, quirking an eyebrow. “Want me to ask my mom if you can sleep over?”

Mark feels himself flush.

“No. What? No, dude. Just… uh,” Mark stutters and then Doyoung is there between them, smiling brightly.

“Sleepover?” Doyoung repeats back to them in English.

“Yes, Doyoung. Sleepover,” Johnny says. “Where you stay over somebody else’s house.”

Doyoung nods, giving Johnny a bitchy look in response, as if it’s so obvious what Johnny was talking about that he didn’t need the condescending English translation.

“Okay,” Doyoung says in English, giving the thumbs up. He points at Johnny, then himself, then finally Mark. “Sleepover. Here with Johnny. And Mark. Cool.”

“I don’t know if we can…” Mark starts, looking to one of the managers.

“It’ll be cool, dude. We can like, do more JCC stuff,” Johnny says, smiling, then stands up straight and ruffles Mark’s hair. “I can show you guys around town some more.”

“Like show us where you went to school and stuff?” Mark finds himself asking, beating himself up the second the words fall out of his mouth more eager than intended. Cool guys like Johnny are never that eager.

Johnny nods and smiles.

“You want my whole life tour… don’t you, Mark Lee? You want the full Johnny experience?”

“I mean… like…” Mark starts, swearing he’s probably as red as a tomato despite not wanting to react in any sort of way, just because Johnny can work him up so easily. But Johnny walks away before he can get an actual word out and ends up talking to one of their managers.

Johnny strolls back to them and claps Mark and Doyoung on the back at the same time.

“It’s been done, boys,” Johnny says in Korean. “Get ready for Johfest 2019.”

There’s a wickedness in the smile Johnny gives Mark. Mark’s stomach turns.

—

They go to Target and to the school where Johnny went to. Mark imagines what it would be like to be Johnny’s friend in high school. He imagines how it would feel to be Johnny in high school, so effortlessly charming and likable. Easy. Would they actually have been friends? Or would Johnny recognize Mark for what he is like he does now: a stuttering mess of a guy, whose brain works too fast for him to get an eloquent string of words out right. Maybe they would’ve been friends. Maybe Johnny’s self-confidence could’ve rubbed off on Mark when he needed it most. Maybe if he had Johnny in high school, he’d be a lot less panicky now as an adult. 

He doesn’t dare vocalize these fantasies, because he knows Johnny will give him crap for it. But he thinks about it as they drive back to Johnny’s house, windows down, their hair whipping around with the cool evening air on their faces. Mark chooses a song to play through the car stereo on his phone and Johnny approves, smiling softly with his eyes still on the road. Mark finds himself melting a little bit at the approval. Looking away, he imagines again they’re in high school, coming home after a long day of classes and soccer practice. A simple, quiet life. He steals a look at Johnny for a second, body relaxed in the driver seat, right arm resting against the center console. His long fingers mindlessly touch the gear shift, rubbing against the thick stitching on the leather. His hands are so big. Strong and confident and honestly pretty, just like Johnny. Hold on.

Mark shifts in the passenger seat, brushing his arm against Johnny’s by accident. And there’s that rush of f word feelings again. His skin feels all prickly hot. Bad news.

“Sorry,” Mark says without thinking. An apology for what, he doesn’t know. 

Johnny looks down at his arm and then at Mark’s, calm, then smiles up at Mark.

“Chill out, Mark Lee.”

—

They sit squished together on the guest bed, all on their phones with freshly washed faces, Mark’s contacts out and his prescription glasses on, in hoodies and newly purchased Target brand basketball shorts. Mark mindlessly scrolls, legs stretched out in front of him. A socked foot rubs against his calf and without looking from his phone, he shakes it off. And it’s there again. He just shakes it off again, annoyed.

“Stop,” Mark says, knowing it’s Johnny, but still doesn’t look up from his phone.

And Johnny stops. For a second. And then his foot is rubbing up against the outside of Mark’s thigh, up underneath his basketball shorts and that makes Mark’s body feel both numb and tingly and he startles, sitting up pin straight. Johnny laughs and takes his foot away.

“Dude!” Mark squeaks out, ears blazing hot.

“That got your attention,” Johnny chuckles. “I’m not tired yet. Let's go out.”

“Where? It’s like,” Mark says, checking the time on his phone. “It’s 12:30. We gotta get up in like, six hours.”

“Yeah. So?” Johnny retorts.

“Where would we even go? I washed my face and took my contacts out. And Doyoung already put his retainer in.”

Doyoung perks up.

“Are we going out? Let’s go out,” he lisps against the retainer.

“Look, Doyoung is so much more fun than you, Mark,” Johnny grins, throwing an arm over Doyoung’s shoulders. “I thought you said you want the whole Johnny Suh Chicago Experience? Don’t you want to get in my head? And truly understand me and where I came from?”

Mark groans as he falls back against the bed, hoodie riding up, the cool air of the room against his stomach. And he regrets letting the bare skin sit there for a second because of course Johnny notices immediately and splays his hand against Mark’s belly and it’s all hot and warm and… And while Mark is trying to think of a way to describe the weight of Johnny’s hand, Johnny’s fingers easily slip underneath the gaping waistband of Mark’s shorts. Mark yelps, both hands shooting up to grip Johnny by the wrist before his fingers creep lower than they should.

“Those shorts are too big for you,” Johnny says with a wicked smile, growing bigger when he sees the deep flush that’s colored Mark’s cheeks.

“Fine. Fine,” Mark concedes. “Let’s go out.”

—

They all pile back into Johnny’s mom’s Acura, Mark once again in the front seat and Doyoung in the back. Goosebumps rise up all over Mark’s legs in the chilly night air.

“It’s cold,” Mark whines, rubbing his hands against his bare legs. “Your house was so warm.”

Johnny plants one of his big palms flat against Mark’s leg, rubbing his thigh hard. Mark pushes him off.

“Dude,” Mark grunts, crossing his legs and shifting them away from Johnny’s grasp and Johnny laughs.

“I was just trying to help warm you up.”

“Why are you touching me so much?,” Mark blurts out, skin still prickly warm from where Johnny rubbed.

“What do you mean?” Johnny replies, reaching down again to touch Mark’s thigh again as he pulls the car out of the driveway.

Yelping, Mark pushes Johnny’s hand away again. It’s too much to even entertain the idea of Johnny’s big hands on his thighs. Big and confident, wrapping around the circumference of his thigh, dipping in between his legs, touching his...

“Where are we going?” Mark asks, heart racing, trying to be subtle in steadying his breath. He doubts that a tenet of being cool involves getting this worked up from a thigh touch. 

“I dunno,” Johnny says.

“What? What do you mean?” Mark squeaks.

“This is the full Johnny experience, Mark. Sometimes you just get in the car and drive. I wanted to clear my head and drive and have some fun,” Johnny replies, flashing a grin to Mark. “I’m thinking we go back to Target.”

“Dude, we were just there. You spent like two hundred bucks, remember? What else do you need? They’re probably closed, anyway.”

Johnny looks at Mark and lets them sit in the silence that always makes Mark uneasy.

“More snacks?” Johnny offers after a few unbearable seconds. “Bagel Bites?”

“What?” Mark says, confused.

“Stop asking so many questions. Let the experience wash over you,” Johnny says, turning up the radio while looking at Mark as a clear sign to really stop talking.

—

The unknown of the situation of course heightens Mark’s worry response, heart thump thump thumping in his chest, as they pull into the deserted Target parking lot. The store is blacked out and clearly closed for the night, parking lot illuminated by harsh fluorescent lights that loom large above them. Mark figures Johnny will just turn around and take them somewhere else but he doesn’t. Instead, he parks them right next to one of the tall street lamps. He looks to Mark, face ominously half lit by the hard white light. He turns the music down.

“I told you they’d be closed,” Mark grumbles.

“Yeah. I knew they would be,” Johnny says coolly.

“Then why did you park?” Mark asks.

Johnny smiles, digging a hand in his hoodie pocket and takes out what Mark presumes to be a joint.

“What is that?” Mark asks, suddenly a whole lot more nervous than he already was, which was pretty nervous. 

“Come on. What do you think it is?” Johnny says, putting the joint between his lips, taking a lighter out of his shorts pocket.

“Uh,” Mark starts, anxious. “Do you really think you should be doing that? It’s your mom’s car, dude.”

Johnny inhales deeply, curls of smoke escaping his nose and mouth, then holds his breath for a second, looking at Mark. He exhales, thick smoke swirling, tongue darting out to wet his lips. That feeling rages back in Mark, this time concentrated in the pit of Mark’s stomach. His ears feel hot.

“Yeah, and?” Johnny says, taking another deep drag from the joint, holding the smoke in his lungs.

“Dude, we are gonna get into so much trouble. I-I’ve never y’know… like smoked… like y’know… like… a wee—” Mark stutters.

Johnny exhales.

“It’s just weed, dude,” Johnny says, voice a little tight on the exhale. “Just say the word weed. You’re not gonna get arrested. It’s not like anybody is gonna find out.”

“But like, what if they smell it? Or like, what if something bad happens to our vocal cords? What if I…” Mark rambles.

“Mark. Dude. It’s fine. I’ve done this before on visits home. Nobody will find out unless you tell them, dude. And I know Doyoung won’t tell them, will you, Doyoung?” Johnny says, offering the joint back to Doyoung.

Doyoung takes it and nods, smiling.

“Wait, Johnny. I don’t know how,” Doyoung says, face falling.

Johnny sighs.

“Yes you do. We’ve done this before.”

“I’m bad at it though,” Doyoung whines again.

Johnny sighs again, exasperated.

“Fine,” Johnny says. “We’re gonna do that thing we did before. Come closer and open your mouth. Breathe in deep, okay? And then once you do you hold it for as long as you can. Then exhale. Okay? Say okay.”

“Okay, Johnny,” Doyoung replies, smiling smug and nodding like a suck-up.

Leaning in against the center console, Doyoung lets his mouth fall open, running his tongue over his lips to wet them before Johnny takes another hit of the joint. Mark watches as he leans in close to Doyoung, their lips so close it jumpstarts that jittery feeling behind Mark’s belly button. And with it comes the strange breathlessness Mark gets when he’s watching a movie and two people are about to kiss. He needs to chill out.

Doyoung’s eyes flutter shut as he breathes in the thick smoke Johnny blows softly into his mouth. And for a quick second, as the last of the smoke dissipates, Mark watches as Johnny’s tongue flicks out, its tip kissing Doyoung’s shining bottom lip. Mark bites his own, choking on a gasp that’s bubbled up from somewhere deep inside of him. Johnny’s eyes dart to Mark, obviously hearing the noise and he just smiles.

“Wanna try, Mark Lee?” Johnny says. “I can do you, too.”

“No,” Mark flatly responds. “I just… I don’t wanna get in trouble, man.”

“Simon says, Mark Lee’s a real vibe killer,” Johnny taunts, sing-songy.

“Again,” Doyoung coughs, tugging on Johnny’s hoodie to revert the attention back to him. “One more time, please.”

Johnny takes another deep drag of the joint, but this time, he grabs Doyoung by the jaw, holding his head still as he shotguns the smoke into Doyoung’s mouth. Doyoung grunts a little. And Mark does too, watching as Johnny’s fingers dig into Doyoung’s jaw. His grip on Doyoung’s jaw is firm, fingernails blanching from the pressure. An image of Johnny’s hand wrapped around Mark’s thigh, gripped tight, flashes in his head.

“God,” Mark whispers before he can stop himself. 

Johnny laughs, letting go of Doyoung and settling back in his seat. He offers the joint to Mark.

“It’ll feel really good, dude,” Johnny says. “Like, really, really good.”

And without thinking, Mark finds himself taking it. It’s not like peer pressure is working on him. He wants to do this. He does, he thinks. He doesn’t let his mind dwell on it more to talk himself out of it. This is the stuff cool Johnny does. And Johnny is fine. So he does what he’s seen in movies and puts it up to his lips and inhales, but as soon as he does he chokes and coughs. And coughs. And coughs.

Johnny laughs again.

“Try it again,” Johnny says. “Relax. Let your throat relax.”

Johnny’s fingers come up and gingerly press into the column of Mark’s throat, massaging gently, as if to coax it open. That fluttery tingle that’s been haunting Mark all night surfaces on each spot Johnny touches. Mark swallows.

“Just breathe in slow,” Johnny continues, wetting his already pretty wet mouth again with his soft looking pink tongue. “Don’t try for more than you can handle.”

Mark tries again, despite berating himself for even caving in the first place. But he shuts that all out, brain all fuzzy by how he’s a little bit turned on right now for some reason and wants to show Johnny he isn’t actually a vibe killer. He can be cool. No, he is cool.

He coughs a little and then holds himself back, trying so hard to relax into it as the smoke warms and burns harsh in his throat and lungs. It feels wrong and bad, and something about that makes Mark even more turned on.

When Mark exhales (with fewer coughing fits this time), Johnny coos at him and pets his hair. Mark flinches away from his touch.

“Good boy, Mark. That’s my good little stoner boy,” Johnny says sweetly, rampant with glee.

“Dude.” That's all Mark can say.

Johnny turns the music back up and reclines his chair, sucking in another hit from the joint as the chair slowly leans back. He put on some song Mark doesn’t recognize, filling the car with some mindless bass line thundering in time with the beating of Mark’s heart. Johnny hands the joint back to him and it isn’t until after Mark sees the smoke swirling up out of his own mouth that he realizes he took another hit. Johnny takes the tiny nub of what’s left of the joint and offers it back to Doyoung again.

“Last one?” Johnny says, rolling on his side as best he can in the minimal amount of space he has, and Mark is locked on at how the steering wheel presses deep into Johnny’s thigh and Mark’s fingertips tingle with the want to touch the mound of flesh and muscle that’s sprouted up because of the pressure.

Doyoung crawls forward again on his palms, holding himself up on the center console again, craning his neck down to Johnny’s mouth, even closer this time, mouth slack and expectant, and Johnny’s hand is at the back of Doyoung’s neck, his fingers laced through the flippy hair at his nape. Johnny once again blows smoke into Doyoung’s mouth, and their lips are so close, so close, and Mark is watching with his breath stuck in some kind of stasis, all still and caught and choked up inside. And Mark is watching. Watching. He’s watching and maybe it’s a trick of the light and smoke but their lips brush, he swears their lips brush together, and then Johnny’s fingers blanch again with the pressure he’s digging into Doyoung’s neck and he pulls him closer and then Johnny’s lips are on Doyoung’s. And they’re kissing, really kissing. Doyoung melts and whines into it, Johnny licking into his mouth, thick smoke escaping from between their lips. Johnny’s teeth dig into Doyoung’s bottom lip and the last of Mark’s breath sputters out.

Mark can’t breathe. He tries to will his lungs to work but they don’t. They can’t. Does he have lungs anymore?

Their lips part, and Doyoung smiles to himself, eyes still shut. Johnny brushes Doyoung’s hair back and cups his cheek as Doyoung settles back into the backseat. He hums a pleasant satisfied sound as he stretches his body out, lying down against the whole back row.

Johnny stretches too, bringing a knee up to rest against the steering wheel. Mark doesn’t know what to do with himself, so he sits still, palms flat against his thighs, staring straight ahead. He feels so weird and squirmy, the groove of the song that’s now going into its ninth minute still worming its incessant beat through his entire body.

“Did you guys really just…” Mark starts but he doesn’t even really want to ask it anyways.

“Did we what?” Johnny says, eyes closed with his head leaning back against the headrest.

“You know what I’m gonna say,” Mark says.

“I’m not a mind reader,” Johnny replies, and Mark is looking at his mouth, spit slick and full. Those lips would be nice to feel. Maybe Mark could touch them really quick if he asked politely. He wants to feel the shape of them with the pads of his fingers. Wants to watch them spring back when he presses down on them.

Mark settles into his seat. He doesn’t feel different. His body feels kinda light.

“When am I gonna be high?” Mark asks.

Johnny laughs.

“It happens pretty fast,” Johnny replies, opening his eyes to look at Mark. “How do you feel?”

“Good,” Mark hears himself saying. “My jaw kinda aches. My body feels kind of floaty.”

“You did it right then. I’m so proud,” Johnny says.

Mark rolls his neck so he’s facing Johnny and Johnny is looking at him. The collar of his hoodie is all askew and Mark sees a sliver of his clavicle, a little divot at his neck that he wants to put his finger in. He trails his eyes down the rest of Johnny’s body and even with his sweats on Mark knows what Johnny’s body looks like underneath all the folds of moisture wicking fabric. What his chest looks like. How big and sturdy he is. His toned stomach. He looks like something Mark thinks he himself will never become. A man. But like a real man. And man, Mark really wants to look at him now. To touch him. He needs to touch. He needs something to stimulate his fingers, his brain. He wants to feel something. Is this what it’s like being high?

His eyes settle on the crotch of Johnny’s shorts and it looks weird. The fabric is all bunched around his thighs, making it look like there’s something going on in his shorts. It’s so awkward when pants do that, when the fabric rides up and it makes it look like you have a boner when you don’t. Mark’s been victim to that too many times and it’s always embarrassing. 

And then Mark’s reaching out, grabbing the edge of Johnny’s shorts to pull them down, trying to smooth them out against his thighs. And wow, his thighs sure feel nice. Mark can feel how strong he is, the tightness of his muscles, as he smooths his shorts and his breath catches again. The tent is still there, even more apparent now. Mark might not understand what he’s going through right now but there’s no denying how Johnny is feeling at this very moment.

“Dude,” Mark squeaks.

Johnny grabs Mark by the wrist before he can pull his hand away.

“Yeah?” Johnny says, deep in his throat.

“Are you…?” Mark can’t say it. If he can’t mention kissing out loud, he definitely can’t mention an erection.

“I want you to ask me. I want you to say it out loud. Face your fears, bud,” Johnny says. “Ask me if I’m turned on right now.”

Mark pulls his wrist hard from Johnny’s grasp. He can’t say it. He can’t say it because if he says it that means it’s real and they’ll have to talk about it and it’s too many things for Mark’s brain to process right now.

“Dude, I’m not gonna just ask you that. Like that’s your… Why are you mak-- Like,” Mark tries, but then realizes he can’t even articulate a good response right now. So he stops himself and looks out the window.

“I’m hungry,” he opts for instead because it’s true and he crosses his legs, squeezing them tight.

“Oh my god,” Johnny replies, shooting back upright, hands gripping the steering wheel.

“What?” Mark asks, breathless.

Johnny breathes and turns to Mark. It feels as if the air was sucked out of the car. Nobody moves.

“Taco Bell.”

Johnny laughs as he puts the car in drive, pressing down on the gas slowly as the tires inch along the pavement.

“Dude, no. You shouldn’t drive!” Mark exclaims.

“It’s fine. I’ve done this tons of times. And now I need a fucking chalupa. And Doyoung?”

Johnny turns back to Doyoung and Mark follows him, finding Doyoung passed out, head and neck awkwardly crooked against the passenger door.

“We’ll get him a quesadilla for later then,” Johnny says, laughing, and Mark can’t help himself as he laughs along with him. It’s not even like it’s particularly funny but it is funny. 

Johnny drives, and Mark worries the whole time, worries about getting pulled over and arrested and getting put into prison for 15 years for weed ingestion. Johnny drives slow at least, and that eases Mark’s woozy brain a little. Mark’s thoughts float back to Johnny’s boner and he finds himself looking at it again. Or staring at it. It’s still there (as if had any place to go), lying in Johnny’s shorts half-hard, street lights skipping past as he drives, illuminating then shrouding it with darkness. Pretty dramatic dick lighting, with the size of it hard to tell, but Mark can’t stop staring, so he doesn’t.

—

“Stop looking at my dick and tell me what you want,” Johnny’s voice cuts through.

Suddenly, they’re parked at the Taco Bell drive thru, lights so harsh Mark has to squint his eyes to adjust.

“What can I get you,” the bored voice crackles through the speaker.

“Need a minute, please,” Johnny replies, leaning out the window while stroking his erection once through his shorts as he speaks. 

Mark feels his legs go numb and his skin flares up red hot. Johnny did not just do that. Of course he did.

Johnny rolls his head to look at Mark and does it again, pulling at his dick, then he definitely makes sure the fabric of his shorts is perfectly tucked around it to make his boner unmistakable.

“What do you want to eat?” Johnny says, smiling. It’s an evil smile.

Mark gets all blustery, then looks at the colorful neon of the menu, hard to even parse what is what when there are a ton of pictures of tacos flying through the air to meet with ice cold fountain drinks of an unnatural color and the thought of Johnny’s erection clouding his brain.

“There’s too much to choose from,” Mark whines and he just literally cannot stop thinking about Johnny’s dick. It’s just there and it’s hard and like it’s so wild how it’s just there and hard and Johnny wants Mark to see how it’s there and hard and like maybe Mark is now hard too. No, Mark is definitely hard. Why is he hard? Is this a thing with being high? No wait, it’s fair to be hard when you’re in the presence of somebody else who is hard. That’s just a fact of life.

“Okay,” Johnny says, turning back to the speaker. “I’m ready.”

Mark zones out again on Johnny’s dick as Johnny orders. He swears he said something that sounded like the words “Baja” and “Blast” and then for some reason the word blast makes Mark think about Johnny coming and another wave of arousal crashes through him again so hard and fast that he tenses his thighs. He just wants to see Johnny’s hard dick, but like, he can’t see it but it’s there and like, he should see it. 

And Mark must’ve zoned out on Johnny’s dick yet again because now they’re parked in the Taco Bell parking lot and the air in the car is thick with beef and weed and sour cream. Johnny puts a big drink in the cup holder, a phosphorescent blue-green soda.

“I got us some Mountain Dew to share,” Johnny says, rummaging through the plastic sack full of a bunch of neatly wrapped tacos to grab the straw, tearing off the wrapper and shoving it in the drink.

Johnny takes a sip, then licks the tip of the straw and smiles.

“Want some?” Johnny asks, giving the cup to Mark.

Mark takes a drink, sickeningly sweet and indescribable yet vaguely fruit taste of the soda bubbling down his throat. Johnny chuckles.

The bag rests in Johnny’s lap, right near his dick and Mark is just imagining the heat radiating off both things. Is Johnny gonna burn? Will Mark be able to taste Johnny’s dick if he eats a taco?

“I got a quesarito. And a soft taco. And a hard one. And one of those Doritos ones. And a Crunchwrap Supreme. And a chalupa. Oh and a chicken quesadilla,” Johnny lists, laughing once he gets to the end of the list, then looks up and finds Mark fixated on his lap.

“For the love of god,” Johnny sighs, putting the sack of tacos on the ground next to Mark.

“What?” Mark says, breaking out of his dick hypnosis. “Oh… thanks for ordering. But I’m like, lactose intolerant… did you get anything without cheese?.”

Leaning down, Mark reaches for the bag of food, but Johnny grabs his wrist and pulls him upright, placing Mark’s hand against his erection. Mark’s eyes almost bulge out of his head.

He tries to pull his hand away but that only makes Johnny tighten his grip on Mark’s wrist, Mark’s hand stiff and flat against Johnny’s dick.

“Touch me, you freak,” Johnny orders, taking his other hand to push Mark’s tense fingers down, making Mark wrap them around his cock. Mark could die. Mark might die. Johnny is hot and hard and his cock is real and heavy in his hand and he really feels like he might die.

“Oh my go—,” Mark chokes out.

“Yeah,” Johnny says. “You’ve been staring at my dick all night. I’m not dumb.”

Mark becomes a body shaped thing made out of flames.

“W-w… No, I haven’t, dude,” Mark squeaks.

“You’ve been pretending all night like you’re not looking at my dick, but I know you have been. I know you want to touch me. You can avoid admitting to yourself that I’m obviously turned on right now,” Johnny says, guiding Mark’s hand up his cock, sighing. “But you can’t avoid it now, can you? My dick is here and it’s hard and it wants you to jerk me off. And you want to jerk me off.”

Mark nervously laughs.

“Dude, I don’t wanna touch you,” Mark says, voice tight in his throat. “That’s like, really weird, dude.”

“Weirder than just fucking staring at a dude’s crotch?”

Mark laughs again and he feels a little manic.

“Look, you have a…” Mark starts then pitches his voice to a whisper. “A boner.”

“Yeah,” Johnny says. “I do.”

“H-how am I gonna not look at it? It’s a boner, dude,” Mark rationalizes, weakly. “It’s like right there. It doesn’t mean I wanna give you a… a… like, h-hand job.”

He’s trying to make sense of anything that’s happening, but he can barely convince himself he knows for sure what’s going on between him and Johnny. Yeah, he wants to touch Johnny. Sure, maybe he wants to see Johnny when he comes. But that doesn’t mean he should do it. Or should he? If Johnny wants it, maybe he should do it. Just to show Johnny he’s chill. He can give Johnny a handjob and not get worked up about it like it means something more than what it is and what it means. But what if it means something? What if it does mean more? What if Johnny actually, like, likes him more than just co-workers? More than friends? Actually, nothing is worse than that. That might be the worst thing Mark can imagine.

Mark flexes his fingers back out, trying to stop this from happening, even though his hardness in his own shorts twitches, confused from the heat of Johnny’s cock in his hand. Fuck.

“Stop it,” Johnny says, firmly pressing his hand into Mark’s to make him grip his cock again. “Jerk me off already so we can eat our fucking tacos.”

But Mark is scared. What if Mark likes it too much? What if Mark pathetically comes untouched like he did that one time he made out with a girl in high school? What if Johnny makes fun of him for not jerking him off? Maybe he should do it. Maybe if he does it, Johnny will finally know for a fact that Mark is cool. He can be a cool, chill guy, despite his brain constantly telling him he’s not one. Yeah. He’s cool. He can be chill. He is chill and casual. One handjob in a Taco Bell parking lot doesn’t mean more than what it is. Which is a handjob in a Taco Bell parking lot at 1AM in suburban Chicago.

So Mark allows himself to relax in Johnny’s grip and Johnny doesn’t take his hand away. Instead, he guides him by the wrist as Mark massages Johnny’s cock over his basketball shorts. Also known as Johnny guiding Mark to jerk himself off. Fuck. His mind is swimming, body prickly and airy, eyes unfocused on the movement of his hand in Johnny’s lap. Against Johnny’s cock. Which he hasn’t even fully seen yet.

Johnny lets out a breath, then whispers Mark’s name all stuttery with pleasure and Mark bites his lip, his own body jittery with arousal. Mark can’t stand to hear Johnny enjoying it. He can’t stand to hear Johnny moan his name like that. It makes him feel too much.

“Don’t do that,” Mark blurts out.

“Don’t do what?”

“Can you not, like… like... don’t make any noise,” Mark babbles.

Johnny laughs loud then moans and Mark looks up at him, Johnny pressing his fingers harder around Mark’s wrist. Mark’s heartbeat quickens against Johnny’s fingertips.

“Fuck, Mark,” Johnny breathes out, eyes heavy and studying Mark’s face when Mark lifts his gaze. “Feels so good… Wanted this for so long…”

“S-shut up, dude,” Mark lilts, face heating up with each pleasured sound that falls from Johnny’s mouth. “Don’t say that.”

Johnny grunts.

“It’s true. I've wanted you to make me come for so long,” Johnny says, voice falling to a near whisper, making something primal tingle at the base of Mark’s skull. “Make me come, Mark Lee.”

A full body shiver charges through Mark like that stampede from The Lion King but horny. He feels so numb, so out of control and unbearably aroused, as if his head is going to burst into flames while he gets a raging nosebleed at the same time. Johnny’s grip around Mark’s wrist tightens enough that it begins to hurt and ache from the pressure. Mark whines and Johnny parrots him, louder, more theatrical.

“S-shut up,” Mark whispers, body so overheated that he can now feel the sweat collect on his upper lip. “You’re gonna wake up Doyoung.”

“Oh, Mark,” Johnny groans, loud, looking to Mark with a smile on his face, then to the backseat where Doyoung remains asleep. “It feels so good, Mark-hyung.”

Mark almost evaporates right there. Johnny guides him underneath the waistband of his shorts and makes him grip his cock, laid bare underneath the fabric. No underwear. No boxers to have to awkwardly wedge his hand into. Johnny just freeballing in his athletic shorts, the same Target brand shorts Mark has on right now. Mark feels like he’s eclipsed his corporeal form. His own cock throbs. It might fall off.

Using Mark’s hand, Johnny makes him run his fingertips over the head of his own cock. Although he can’t see it, Mark can tell by touching that Johnny has a pretty dick. Because of course he does. The rest of his body looks like it was cut out of marble, why not his dick too?

It’s weird touching another guy’s dick. Its skin is smooth, in this weirdly soft sort of pleasant way, and his high brain feels like he could run his fingers over it for hours. Like one of those worry stones, where you keep rubbing your finger into the smooth stone until you relax. Except warm. Johnny’s dick is Mark’s worry stone. 

Johnny keens as Mark drags his thumb over his cockhead, and it’s slightly squishy as Mark gingerly presses the tip of his finger into it, precome dampening his fingers. That makes Johnny moan, his mouth falling open as Mark watches.

Johnny presses his head back against the headrest, exposing the long column of his neck, illuminated by the parking lot lights. And Mark can just imagine what it looks like right now, Johnny puppeting Mark’s hand underneath his shorts and against his cock. He imagines what it would be like if Doyoung woke up and saw them like this: Johnny moaning Mark’s name while he fucks Mark’s fist. Even the imagined shame and arousal makes Mark’s own dick harder in his shorts and he just squeezes his thighs together, knowing the last thing he actually wants right now is for Johnny to see him come.

“Make me feel good, hyung,” Johnny pants. “Your fingers feel so good.”

Mark really is losing it. His mind swims with a confusing mass of feelings, like a frankenstein fish of feelings. Most of which is really really fucking turned on.

“Stop saying that,” Mark breaks out. “Stop calling me h-hyung.”

Johnny laughs wickedly, then it mixes into a genuine moan.

“But you make me feel so good,” Johnny retorts. “Like how a good hyung does.”

He quickens the pace of Mark’s hand, body relaxing even more into the seat, spreading his legs open wider as he looks at Mark. Mark wants to die. But he also wants to see Johnny naked so bad. And also he wants to see Johnny come. Johnny seemingly goes unfocused as he rests his head against the headrest, mouth falling open, breaths coming out in little pants.

“I’m gonna come,” Johnny says and it’s serious, devoid of the mocking tone everything up until that point has been laced with. Mark shudders, his entire body exhausted with his own arousal.

His hand guides Mark’s so fast now, too fast that Mark’s wrist begins to throb at the speed, an ache shooting up his forearm. His groans are more frequent, so loud that there’s no way Doyoung isn’t awake by now, watching as Mark helplessly gives a handjob to a moaning, manipulative Johnny. The thought of Doyoung watching is sick, and just makes the erection in Mark’s shorts throb even more.

Johnny bucks his hips up and then Mark feels the warmth of his come coating his fingers, allowing for the glide of his fingers over Johnny’s cock to be even smoother. It makes him a little nauseated how much he likes the feeling of his fingers slick and sticky and hot with Johnny’s come. Mark is so fucking hard.

Steadying his breathing, he gradually slows down Mark’s hand against his cock. He pulls Mark’s hand from his shorts, and now Mark can see his fingers glistening in the light with Johnny’s come. Johnny twists Mark’s wrist slowly, letting the light reflect off his come.

“Thank you, Mark-sunbaenim,” Johnny pants and before Mark can whine at him to stop with the condescending honorifics, Johnny slips Mark fingers into his mouth.

Mark can’t help it when he moans, watching Johnny drag his tongue slow up the length of Mark’s fingers. He sucks on them, hollowing out his cheeks, removing them from his mouth with a pop. He hums approvingly, then licks them again, Mark watching as Johnny’s pink tongue laps at the crooks in between Mark’s fingers. Leave it to Johnny to somehow make him tonguing Mark’s fingers look more depraved than anything else Mark’s ever seen before. And Mark’s watched porn. (Some.)

Once he’s satisfied, Johnny places Mark’s hand gingerly back into Mark’s lap and grabs the bag of tacos from the ground.

“Now what to follow that with, hmm? Might as well start at the top, yeah?” Johnny says cheerily, taking out one of the tightly wrapped tacos. He unwraps it, revealing a deep fried shell. “Chalupa, baby.”

Mark watches slack-jawed as Johnny takes a bite, the sour cream pooling at the corners of Johnny’s mouth. Johnny’s eyes shut with drama and he moans loud.

“God,” Johnny says, mouth full. “Nothing is fucking better than this.”

He regards Mark, who hasn’t moved since Johnny fucking licked his hand clean like a dog and put it back in his lap. 

“Dude, aren’t you gonna eat? Eat,” Johnny says, at first laid-back, then demanding. 

Mark nods and takes out the first wrapped taco he touches as Johnny takes another bite.

“I gotta admit though,” Johnny says, sucking back up a stray piece of lettuce that threatens to fall out of his mouth while he talks. “The combo of my come and this chalupa is a real taste sensation.”

He laughs, then finishes the last bit of chalupa in one bite, rolling up the paper in his hands into a tight ball with a flourish, then bending over to grab another one out of the bag, this time with a hot sauce packet. Mark unwraps a taco on his lap, the paper awkwardly stiff and unsteady on his knees, with a few chopped tomatoes and sour cream dangerously close to rolling off onto the ground.

“Don’t make a mess, dude. It’s my mom’s car. She’s a fucking neat freak,” Johnny says, tearing open a sauce packet with his teeth then spitting the foil corner onto the ground, dousing the taco in sauce.

Mark barely hears him, zoned out from thinking about how he’s still fucking hard but also how Johnny just made him to jerk him off and now he’s got a damn taco in his hands and now he’s eating that taco, biting down on it, feeling the weight of it lighten as some meat and sour cream fall into his lap and then off the wrapper onto the ground, taking the wrapper with it. 

“Dude?” Johnny says, pissed, mouth full after shoving the last of the taco in.

He unbuckles himself and gets out of the car before he’s even finished chewing, and Mark’s eyes are wide and confused. Then he’s at Mark’s passenger side door, opening it, and he’s leaning over him and reaching into the bag, grabbing napkins to pick up the food and wrapper Mark dropped.

“Don’t make more of a mess in my mom’s car, okay?” Johnny says sternly, kneeling on the pavement, picking up the last of the mess with napkins.

Mark feels even too weird to say any words right now so he just takes another bite and god how much sour cream did they put into this thing because another glob of it falls out and onto the crotch of his shorts.

“Dude,” Johnny says, and his hand is now on Mark’s thigh and his body feels hot and petrified and he’s still holding a fucking taco. “I told you to not be messy in my mom’s car.”

And then all of Mark becomes white noise because Johnny leans inside the car more, twisting his torso at a weird angle as he laps up the sour cream off Mark’s shorts. The shorts are thin enough that Mark can feel a vague wetness of Johnny’s tongue and its warmth as he drags it up and over the head of his still very hard cock.

Mark lets out a strangled, phlegmy moan. His whole body shudders as Johnny’s tongue achingly drags the fabric of his basketball shorts over the sensitive head of his cock.

“Dude,” Mark gasps, holding the taco in one hand as the other shoots into his lap to cover his dick, as if that would be a way to ward off Johnny from going any further.

Mark doesn’t put up much resistance as Johnny easily pushes his hand away and licks at his shorts again. It’s so fucking good and gross and Johnny’s hand is on his cock now, massaging him over his shorts, and Mark really feels like he’s gonna come in approximately two seconds. Johnny hooks his fingers in Mark’s shorts and boxers, then wriggles his hand underneath, and pulls Mark’s cock out. Mark’s cock is just fucking out. Out in the Illinois night air. Leaking and flushed dark in a fucking Chicago Taco Bell parking lot at 1AM with Johnny Suh’s big hand wrapped around it. He wonders if this is what it was like in high school with Johnny. Late night drives to get chalupas that end with an awkward blow job. He’s gonna come in approximately one second.

Johnny circles the head of Mark’s cock with his tongue and Mark is wound so tight that another touch of Johnny’s tongue might be enough to make him explode. Johnny wets his lips and then takes the tip of his cock into his mouth, sucking quickly then releasing with another dramatic pop. He looks up at Mark with a furrowed brow.

“Aren’t you gonna eat?” Johnny asks in the way Mark’s grandma does when he’s visiting her. Concerned yet bossy.

“What?” Mark hoarsely replies.

“Aren’t you gonna eat the taco I bought for you?”

“What?” Mark repeats and it’s not really an actual question, just something to give him some time to process what even the fuck Johhny is doing right now.

Johnny wiggles Mark’s cock around in his hand, taunting.

“Mm,” Johnny says, close enough that Mark can feel the warmth of Johnny’s breath on his cock. “Better finish up.”

And so Mark tentatively puts the taco up to his lips and takes a small bite and Johnny smiles, opening his mouth and taking Mark to the hilt, then lets Mark’s cock fall out with a pop, its head brushing up against Johnny’s slack, wet lips. Mark feels crazy, his whole body confused and tense and sticky with sweat. He’s got a headache now from how bad he needs to come.

“Johnny,” Mark softly cries. “Dude, I--”

“‘I think I should finish my taco’?” Johnny says, finishing Mark’s sentence for him. “Yeah, you’re right. You should finish it.”

Mark takes another bite and immediately Johnny goes down on him, sucking loudly, humming against his cock, sound vibrating his lips ever so slightly to push Mark’s stimulation almost to the absolute edge, his orgasm so close he can taste it and it tastes better than this fucking taco. Actually, the taco is pretty good, so Mark takes the last bite and Johnny happily takes Mark’s cock back into his mouth, his hands wandering to Mark’s stomach, pushing up his shirt a little to dig his fingers into the soft flesh there.

Mark never knew blow jobs could be this bizarre and exhilarating. He sort of had one once, he thinks, but he came too fast to remember what it felt like, just that it was nice to have somebody’s mouth on him. Nice to have a warm wet heat wrapped around his dick. This is way better than that, even with the shame mixed in. He feels weirdly alive and yeah, even cool. Nothing cooler than getting blown in a fast food chain parking lot. Also fuck, that taco really hit the spot.

“Dude,” Mark says thickly, swallowing the last of his taco as Johnny blows him in earnest now, murmuring as he licks and sucks the life out of Mark.

He truly feels out of his body, already so floaty and airy because of the weed and now in another dimension because of his weird late night taco blow job. Mark squeezes his eyes shut and he’s right there, so close to coming. And he’s still got some remnants of sour cream on his fingers but he wants to thread his fingers through Johnny’s hair, to coax him to go faster so he can finally come and be free of this horrible negative space of almost coming he’s stuck in. Johnny would absolutely kick his ass if he got sour cream in his hair so he just awkwardly floats his hands above Johnny’s head, pleading him with just vibes to make him go faster. 

And somehow giving Johnny those vibes works and Mark gasps as Johnny speeds up, and it’s when Mark feels his cockhead hit the back of Johnny’s throat that everything in Mark’s body seizes up and he’s coming. He’s coming. He’s coming down Johnny Suh’s throat.

Mark pants as his vision clears after his orgasm, his hips bucking up into Johnny’s mouth reflexively. Johnny lets him, swallowing his come at the same time as he cleans off his cock like he did with his fingers earlier. Although his thoughts are hazy, Mark knows he can’t fixate on that image of Johnny and his fingers or else he might start getting hard again.

Johnny tucks Mark’s cock back into his shorts, patting it softly as he gets to his feet, brushing off the dirt and pebbles of concrete that have dug themselves into Johnny’s knees. He closes Mark’s door and comes back to the driver’s side, getting in with a huff, then shutting the door. 

“Well,” Johnny says, leaning over to take another taco out of the bag with another hot sauce packet. He looks at the packet, then laughs loud.

“What?” Mark croaks.

Johnny hands him the packet. On it, in bold black text reads, “THAT ESCALATED QUICKLY.”

Mark laughs. It’s nervous at first, then becomes real but still confusing, an ache twisting in his belly either from laughter, or the lactose he just ingested. There’s rustling from the back seat.

“Do I smell tacos?” Doyoung asks sleepily, dragging his body up to lean in between the driver and passenger seats.

**Author's Note:**

> [twt!](https://mobile.twitter.com/jeonbenet)


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